


Dirty Laundry (Looks Good on You)

by BeckyBubbles



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms, Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hopelessly undomesticated, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and they were ROOMMATES, late night at the laundromat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyBubbles/pseuds/BeckyBubbles
Summary: Against all odds, and their inability to perform any basic household chores, Anne and Gilbert have just moved in together.There's just one thing they haven't yet conquered but a late night at the laundromat will see that right.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 32
Kudos: 129
Collections: Shirbert smut





	Dirty Laundry (Looks Good on You)

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm, so hi!
> 
> *Headline* This potato has gone rogue! 😈
> 
> This is my first time writing a love scene (I'm using this little drabble as a practice run for another scene I will be writing very soon) so please don't judge me too harshly, and, if you'd like to, please leave a little feedback. I wrote it in a day so I know it's not *quite* perfect but I'm trying to get better at writing scenes like this. 
> 
> A big thank you to the lovely Lela (@imthatbarry on twitter) for beta reading this (no, I will not use the tag 'one useless beta, we die like men') and for our subsequent discussion on birth control and pink tax. I love talking about these things! Also, thanks to Elodie for her gentle encouragement and fire emojis. Yousens are a force to be reckoned with and I'm so glad we have a little chat to talk about fics and life and hammers. 
> 
> Enjoy! x

**"** How hard can it be?”

The fluorescent lights fixed to the ceiling buzzed, their wash of harsh white light flickering around Anne and Gilbert as they stood side-by-side eyeing the army they were about to tackle, a line of grey, top-loading washing machines equipped to tackle dirt and grubby fingerprints; grass stains, sweat, and red wine spills.

Anne’s grip tightened around the basket she held; heaps of their dirty clothes spilling from its confines, legs of jeans and flounces from her skirts snaking down the side.

It had seemed a good idea at the time, moving in with Gilbert when she had graduated. He was still studying, the only of her friends who was, the rest all taking jobs closer to home while she had accepted a position in a Charlottetown school, teaching English to high schoolers. And they were _friends._ It made sense.

But it was times like now, when they stood side by side, with two baskets overflowing with dirty laundry, a tote bag filled with detergent and laundry sheets slung over Anne's shoulder, that Anne realised just _what_ a hopeless pair they made. They were severely undomesticated, both relying on their friends to help them with cooking and laundry while they completed their undergraduate degrees. Now, however, they were alone, sharing a miniature two-bedroom apartment with curling wall-paper and suspicious stains on the carpet, both realising just how terrible they were at all the tasks that made them responsible adults.

Diana had warned Anne when she had first told her she had just signed a lease with Gilbert.

“This is a terrible idea,” she had declared as they sipped from mugs on their worn sofa on Anne’s second last day in the home she and Diana had shared with Ruby.

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ Anne, you had to ask me how to take the lid off the kettle.”

Anne had spluttered. “Just _once_ , but I learnt quickly, didn’t I?”

“Yes, because I was there to tell you how to do it. Gilbert can’t do _anything._ He’s as undomesticated as you are. Just _how,_ pray tell, are you planning on running a home together?”

Anne had shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

And they had. Yes, it had taken them three attempts to get the gas stove to work, Anne squeaking the first time the flame had caught the gas, but they had managed it _eventually,_ and thanks to Jamie Oliver’s _15 minute meals_ and the occasional slug of cooking wine, they were now able to rustle together something that was somewhat edible, Gilbert usually taking control of stirring the pot while Anne sliced the ingredients. They had established a _very_ grown-up routine when cleaning up after dinner, Gilbert washing the dishes, hands plunged into their sink, while Anne dried and slipped them back into the cabinet, and, after three weeks of living together, Anne had finally trained Gilbert to replace the toilet roll when he had finished it. Gilbert was the first who learnt how to use the hoover, and had declared it his job, while Anne dusted the IKEA bookshelf they had screwed together, or wiped around the bathroom, and their early Saturday morning chores were usually accompanied with dancing, both of them belting out ‘Islands in the Stream’ or another cheesy song from Anne's playlist as they worked. 

Against all odds, their complete incapability of completing basic household tasks prompting their friends to place bets on how long they would last before one went scuttling home, back to Avonlea and their home comforts, Anne and Gilbert found they made a good team. 

Gilbert knew _exactly_ how Anne took her tea (a dash of oat milk and two sugars) and was sure to bring her a cup while she poured over papers, grumbling at her students’ poor spelling as her red pen worked furiously across their essays, Anne huffing, “Did they even _read_ this before they submitted it?” 

And Anne would stay up late waiting for Gilbert to return from another late night studying at the library, greeting him with a grin and a beer, and listening while he ranted over his unreasonable professors, or that one librarian who had it in for him because he had sneezed too loudly that _one time._ They would work alongside each other, both settled on the high stools at the counter in their kitchenette, the silence between them comfortable as Gilbert read his textbooks or typed notes on his laptop while Anne planned the next day’s lessons, and when all was done, they would collapse into the beaten brown sofa Anne had disguised with a crocheted throw and watch a new show _Netflix_ would surely cancel soon, Anne and Gilbert making a wager of how many seasons the show would get before the plug was pulled on it.

“Julie and the Phantoms will get three seasons, mark my words,” Anne would insist as Gilbert’s arm slid around her shoulder, Anne snuggling into his side.

But there was one thing they hadn’t _quite_ gotten the hang of just yet, despite Marilla trying in vain to teach Anne how to use the machines in her university digs, followed by Diana, who gave up after leaving Anne unsupervised once, which led to the bathroom flooding. 

Anne just _couldn’t_ do laundry.

And neither, it appeared, could Gilbert. 

She had arrived home earlier that day, the door slamming behind her as she called out a greeting, finding Gilbert in the kitchen area of their apartment, his head hidden behind a cabinet door as he rooted around for a snack. 

“So, guess who was called into the principal’s office today for breaching dress-code?” she had asked as she dropped her keys onto the counter.

He’d drawn his head from behind the cupboard, unscrewing the lid from the jar of _Biscoff_ spread he had found, metal clanking together as he searched for a spoon in the drawer. He dipped the spoon into the spread, turning towards Anne and stilling, his eyes widening as his gaze met her on the other side of the counter. The spoon slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. He felt himself grow inexplicably hot. 

“This gal,” Anne exclaimed, thrusting her thumbs towards herself. “Apparently, this dress is too _sexy_ for work.”

She laughed as she strode into the living area, Gilbert blinking, once, twice, urging himself to come back to life as he watched her collapse into the sofa, her bare legs stretching out to rest on top of the coffee table.

“I hate that they always make any female teacher under thirty to be some sort of _Curley's Wife_ character. I’ve just run out of clothes, I’m not trying to seduce a student.”

Gilbert nodded along with her tirade, but his brain had short-circuited. He could understand her principal’s worry. If his teacher looked like her, well… 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ducking to retrieve the spoon he’d dropped from the floor and rinsing it below the tap, his eyes screwed shut as the water ran, Gilbert attempting to banish the image of Anne in her chocolate brown minidress, peppered in dainty polka dots, from his head. How it grazed along her thighs, the material stretched slightly across the expanse of her hips. And the part that affected him most, made a heat lick deep at his insides, was the shirt she had knotted over the top to disguise the spaghetti straps that held the dress to her. It was baggy, too big, Anne having rolled the sleeves at the cuff. But it was his. He almost groaned at the thought. 

“We’re going to have to do laundry soon,” she announced, Gilbert’s eyes darting to where she sat on the sofa, her laptop balanced against her thighs, whirring as it came to life. “It’s either that or I lose my job. _Imagine_ just what Mr. Phillips would think if he realised I went commando yesterday.”

Gilbert choked on the spoon of spread caught between his lips, Anne flushing, eyes snapping to him as the weight of what she had just told him settled on her. She watched as he slipped the spoon out, the metal licked clean, his eyes fixed to her as he propped his chin on the palm of his hand. 

“Well, if it’s a matter of keeping your job, then I guess we’ll head to the laundromat tonight.”

Anne nodded tersely. “I have papers to grade first.”

“That’s fine. It’s twenty-four-hour anyway, right?”

Anne had worked late into the evening, slamming her laptop shut just after one-thirty, her arms stretching above her head.

“You sure you still want to do laundry?” Gilbert asked with a smirk.

Anne had nodded. “Yes,” she insisted. “Or I’ll have to go to work tomorrow in pyjamas.” 

Gilbert had laughed. “Well, I suppose tonight is the night we master the washing machine.”

They’d collected together their used garments, Anne stretching under her bed to drag unpaired socks and discarded bras from beneath it, filling a hamper from the clothes scattered around the carpet in her room and the chair she had piled high with dirty laundry, dragging her basket from her room and into the living area where Gilbert waited for her, worn jeans and sweatshirts, pairs of used running shorts, thrown haphazardly into another. They left their apartment and skipped down the steps, pushing out into the night air. 

Their street had been quiet, streetlights the only source of light as they paced the pavement, the air still balmy around them despite the late hour. The laundromat sat on the corner of the street, a self-service shop with a blinking sign telling them it was _open._ Gilbert had entered first, holding the door open with his foot as Anne followed him, both stilling before the fleet of machines that met them, grubby and marked after years of use, the fluorescent lights above them flickering, their buzz filling the room. 

“We’ll go towards the back,” Anne had suggested, leading him down past the stacked dryers against the walls and the washing machines arranged in the centre. “That way if anyone comes in, they won’t realise we’re totally hopeless.”

That was where they found themselves now, eyeing up the washing machines like they were rockets Anne and Gilbert had just been ordered to send into orbit, despite having none of the qualifications to do so.

“Look, we’re both logical, well-educated individuals,” Gilbert rationalised, his eyes darting to Anne briefly. “I know how to sew people up, for god’s sake! This should be basic. Kid’s stuff.”

“Right.” Anne nodded once, watching as Gilbert dropped his basket to his feet.

He stepped closer to the machine; his movements wary as he peered at the faded instructions printed on a sticker at the back.

“Okay, so we need change.” He patted at his pockets, drawing some coins from inside and dropping them to the top of the machine, the quarters tinkling against each other. “And - Just _how_ are you supposed to read these things?”

He laughed, leaning closer to the printed instructions, the writing so pale Gilbert was certain they hadn’t been updated since the laundromat had opened. He glanced around him at the flaking paint on the tiles and the sticky floor beneath his feet. Yes, it had surely been a while since the laundrette had opened its doors. 

“I think this is a job for _Google,_ ” Anne mused from his side, sliding her hamper onto the machine and fishing into her bag to pull her phone from among their supplies. She tapped at the screen, her mouth curving with a smile as the search engine illuminated with the exact information she needed.

“ _How to do laundry at a laundromat,_ ” she read, her face splitting with a beaming smile. “ _If you’ve never used a laundromat, don’t worry –_ well, that’s reassuring. _The process is fairly simple and you’ll get the hang of it in no time. To start, get a cloth laundry bag, as opposed to a hard plastic or metal basket…”_

She frowned as Gilbert chuckled, deep and low. “Don’t tell me we’ve screwed up already,” he quipped, toeing at the plastic basket he’d dropped to the ground.

“I’m sure the vessel used is neither here nor there,” Anne laughed, scrolling further along the article. “ _Find an unoccupied washer and dryer and complete your laundry the way you normally do…_ Well, that’s not at _all_ helpful! How are we meant to do the actual washing?”

Gilbert bent over the machine, squinting as he neared the sticker with instructions, before shaking his head and drawing away. “We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

“Alright.” Anne nodded determinedly, placing her bag and phone on the machine next to theirs and reading the next step. “Well, we don’t need to fight anyone over a machine at least.”

She laughed lightly as she glanced upwards, seeing the laundromat and street outside deserted, save for them. Everyone else would be at home, tucked into beds at two in the morning, and not working out how to use a damned washing machine.

“ _Step two,”_ she read from the screen. “ _Separate your colours and whites and layer them in your laundry basket.”_

Gilbert nodded. “Empty that basket and we’ll use it for pale stuff,” he instructed. “I’ll get one of those carts and we’ll put colours in there.”

Anne did as he instructed as Gilbert wheeled a laundry cart across the tiles to their machine, the soles of his converse squeaking against the floor. They worked together to sort their clothes, Gilbert holding up a pale mauve blouse to Anne.

“Does this constitute as a pale or a coloured?” he asked with a quirk of his brow.

“A pale?” Anne guessed with a shrug, laughing at Gilbert tossed it into one hamper.

“Alright, on your head be it if everything is pink.”

She giggled, returning to her task, tossing Gilbert’s jeans into the cart, some of her blouses into her hamper, glancing upwards to see Gilbert’s brow furrowed in concentration as he sorted through their clothes. 

“You know, doc, I’d trust you with my life, but not with my laundry,” she quipped, sticking her tongue out at him playfully as he lobbed a t-shirt at her head.

“Hey,” he laughed. “You’re just as bad at it as I am!”

Anne ducked to dodge the attack. “Yeah, but I’m prettier, so I get away with it,” she joked, her skin prickling as she heard his laughter stop.

Anne’s eyes raised slowly to him, finding him watching her with a strange look to his face, a small smile playing about his lips as his eyes softened. 

“That’s true.” His voice was low; gentle. “You are.”

Anne felt her skin heat, a shiver raced down her spine as he dropped his head, tearing his gaze from her as he returned to his task. She watched as he palmed at something, his skin reddening to the tips of his ears as he lifted a pair of lace panties from the pile of clothes.

“Pale or coloured?” he asked, dangling her delicates from pinched fingers, his eyes locked to Anne’s. She ducked her head, pushing her hair back from her face, feeling herself become flustered beneath his gaze.

“Uhm, pale,” she mumbled, grabbing at a handful of t-shirts and tossing them into the cart with the coloured clothes.

“Right.”

Anne swallowed, feeling him move around her, both of them continuing their task soundlessly, the soft rustle of clothing piling atop more and the buzzing of the light overhead all that could be heard.

“What’s next?” Gilbert asked as they dropped the last piece of clothing into the cart they borrowed.

Anne scrolled through the article, reading step three outlined in the guide. “Now we have to check inside the drum…”

She opened the lid of the machine, peering inside.

“What are you looking for?” Gilbert asked as Anne stretched on tiptoe, disappearing into the drum.

Gilbert swallowed as the hem of her dress crept higher, exposing another two inches of milky white thighs dusted with pale freckles. He tore his eyes from her, finding the toes of his converse as she let out a triumphant cry, pulling a single stray sock from inside.

“A runaway,” she announced, sharing a bright smile with him that he returned. “So, now we have to disinfect inside.”

“Okay.” 

Gilbert went in search of disinfectant as Anne searched the interior of the second drum, finding it empty. They wiped down the walls of the drums with the spray Gilbert had found, Anne’s voice echoing into the barrel as she joked.

“Why can’t the comedian tell a dirty laundry joke?”

“I don’t know. Enlighten me,” Gilbert replied as he binned the tissue they had used.

“They always come out clean.”

She had snorted a laugh, Gilbert chuckling lowly, his eyes finding her as she planted her hands on her hips, calculating their next move. 

“So, we just dump everything in there?” she asked. 

Gilbert peered into the drum of the machine. He shrugged. “Seems that way.”

They tossed their pale bundle into one machine, dark clothes into its neighbour, Anne adding detergent as the webpage instructed her to. 

“Now we ‘ _Turn the dial to your preferred setting’,”_ Anne read from her phone. “What setting is our preferred setting?”

He watched as she opened a new tab, googling what each setting meant.

“The standard setting is the longest cycle with the most agitation,” she read.

“Sounds strangely sexual,” Gilbert said aloud, drawing a loud laugh from Anne. 

She nudged her elbow into his ribs, eyeing him with a coy quirk of her brow.

“Get your head out of the gutter, Mr. Blythe,” she teased. Gilbert chuckled as he rubbed at the spot she had jabbed, eyeing Anne as she pressed the _On_ button, a loud beep telling them the machine was ready to use. 

“We’ll try the standard setting, I guess?” Anne pondered. 

“What harm will it do?”

Anne twisted the dial to standard and they both held their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

“Have we done something wrong?” Gilbert asked, reading over Anne’s shoulder as she scrolled to the next step.

“No, we’ve done all we have had to so far.”

“There must be something else.”

He studied each of the buttons, a crease to his forehead. They had switched it on, selected their wash. Why wasn’t it working?

“We forgot to put in the money!”

Anne laughed at the realisation, collecting quarters from where Gilbert had left them and feeding them into both machines. They stood back, silent once more, Anne’s fingers crossed at her sides as they waited for the machines to begin their cycle.

There was a rumble, a click, and a low gurgle was heard as the drum filled with water, sloshing from somewhere inside it. The laundry began to whirl.

“We did it!” Anne cried, laughing as Gilbert swept her off her feet and bundled her into the laundry cart, his laughter like music as he spun her.

The room flashed past her eyes as she twirled, blurs of greying machines and rows of tall dryers, the darkness outside the window and the harsh white lights, a pale coloured t-shirt and dark hair, hazel eyes rimmed with black lashes and tanned skin.

_Spinning laundry. Dark windows. Buzzing lights. Skin._

_Spinning laundry. Dark windows. Buzzing lights. Skin._

_Spinning laundry. Dark windows. Buzzing lights. Skin._

_Stop._

Anne’s head reeled, tears of laughter pooling at her lashes as Gilbert’s hands gripped the side of the cart, stilling Anne’s rotation. He grinned, leaning forward on the cart, his eyes crinkling in that way Anne loved so much, and, fuelled by exhilaration at knowing they had done their very first grown-up thing, she took his face in her hands and pulled him forward, her lips connecting with his in a hasty kiss.

Gilbert drew away, his eyes locked to Anne’s. His breathing was heavier, laboured suddenly. A heat fanned deep in Anne's core as his eyes seemed to darken before her, trailing slowly upwards, outlining each curve of her body, the roundness of her thighs and dip of her waist, the slope of her exposed shoulder, his white cotton shirt having slipped down her arm revealing more freckled skin.

The air was charged, the whole room abuzz with the hum of the fluorescent lights. Anne felt small, exposed beneath his dark gaze, but her body zinged with electricity, her skin pebbling as his dark pupils fixed to hers. 

“Gil…”

He seemed too near her, crowding her space, Anne’s breath hitching in her throat as the machines thrummed around them, the lights drone above them, and Gilbert’s breath, hot and ragged, washed over Anne like a wave.

Anne’s eyes slid up his body slowly, over his faded Levi’s and toned chest, the broad expanse of his shoulders, before finally resting on his face, his eyes narrowed, breath shallow as his gaze asked her a question. Anne shifted onto her knees as he leant closer to her, eyes locked to hers, waiting for her to tell him to stop.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t want him to.

His gaze slowly dropped to her lips. Anne felt her breath catch, her heart pound against her ribs. He was so close to her now, so near that she felt dizzied by him: intoxicated by his scent, citrus, and coffee, and that slightly spicy scent that was so irrevocably _him._ She swallowed, inhaling his heat, their breaths mingling together as his lips hovered mere millimetres from hers, his breath brushing like fingertips across her cheek, eliciting a shiver from her. A zing of tension trickled down her spine and along her skin.

“Anne…” he murmured, his voice low, stroking Anne like sensual black velvet. 

She pushed herself onto her knees, surging forward to claim his lips with her own, her arms snaking around him, fingers finding the back of his neck and drawing him to her as his mouth responded eagerly, lips moving below hers as his eyes fluttered closed. The kiss was hurried, an unspoken conversation between two pairs of lips that had waited eagerly for the moment they would connect.

Anne felt his hands find her waist, groaning against his mouth as his fingertips pressed into the softness of her flesh, Gilbert eagerly responding to her whimper with his tongue, swiping it along the seam of Anne’s lips to gain entry. She felt his tongue slide along her own, swallowing his groan as the kiss deepened, the cart she was in pushed backwards as Gilbert pressed into her, metal crashing against the washing machine behind them as he drew her upwards, pulling her to him urgently.

His arms tightened around her waist, hoisting her from the cart, Anne’s legs encircling his waist as he lifted her, the friction of her body against his evoking a groan from him as he slid her onto the top of the washing machine, the vibrations from below Anne thrilling through her as his mouth found hers once more, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs. Anne whimpered against his lips as his hands slid slowly down her legs, fingers hooking behind her knees and drawing her to him, Anne rolling her hips against his as his length met the apex of her legs.

“Fuck…” he growled, Anne trailing kisses along his jawline and down his neck, her mouth exploring the bulb in his throat as his short fingernails pressed into her skin, Gilbert’s pelvis rutting into her’s as she ground into him once more. “Anne…”

Her lips brushed over his neck, her tongue flitting from between parted lips, swiping across his earlobe. She felt him jerk against her at the contact.

Anne’s breath warmed the shell of his ear. “Yes?”

Her voice was breathy, wanton, and uneven. Gilbert wrestled with his desire to hoist her skirt up there and then, allow his jeans to fall to the floor.

She mouthed below his ear, listening as his breathing began to shallow, coming in short gasps.

“You’re… _fuck.”_ She sucked his earlobe into her mouth, teeth grazing the velvety skin. “You’re not supposed to sit on the machines…”

He felt her mouth at his ear once more, hot breath stoking the inferno inside him with one lick of her quick tongue.

“Are you always such a stickler for the rules?”

Her voice was breathy, barely audible over the din of spinning washing machines, and she ground herself into him once more, his forehead falling against her shoulder as his fingers inched slowly up her thighs, tracing light circles around each freckle he had desired to touch for so long, ceasing only when he reached the hem of her silky skirt.

“What if we get caught?”

It was more of a statement than a question, Gilbert fingering the hem of her skirt as his eyes met hers, her pupils blown wide, ocean blue eyes navy and needy and _dark._ He felt his hips roll into her, Anne moaning at the friction.

“Isn’t that the whole fun of it?” she whispered, her fingers gripping the back of his neck and drawing him close to her again, lips colliding with his as he sucked her bottom lip between his, feeling her hands explore his chest, etching a map of fire on his skin as she discovered his contours, hands sliding around his waist and beneath the hem of his shirt, her warm palms sliding against his skin. He felt her foot trail up this thigh, soft against the roughness of his jeans as she arched her back into him, Gilbert’s mouth peppering kisses along her neck, along her exposed shoulder.

He glanced up, Anne’s lips parted and full, stained red from kissing as she tilted her head back, hands finding his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp as he marked the skin at the base of her neck.

Anne, his Anne, here before him, grinding herself against him, feeling the hardness that he so often concealed from her press against her wetness. And she wasn’t pulling away. She whimpered as he sucked lightly at the skin, detaching with a _pop_. Her eyes met his once more, and he felt his face split with a grin as her arms wound around his neck and drew him into her.

“Gil, I _want you_.”

The words urged him forward, lips crashing against hers as his hands found her thighs again, pushing her skirt roughly upwards, exposing more undiscovered flesh. He broke the kiss, glancing downwards and swallowing hard when he noticed she was in a pair of his underwear, pale grey boxer briefs stained charcoal at the junction of her thighs.

He licked his lips, eyes finding hers once more as his index finger lightly circled the damp patch. Anne threw her head back, hand at his neck as his mouth explored her chest, his free hand loosening the knot at her navel. It gave way, Anne circling her hips into his fingers, chasing the friction she desired as the cotton shirt slipped down her arms, collecting around her wrists.

“Anne.” Her movements slowed, as her eyes met his once more, a tenderness to them as honeyed hazel roamed over her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Anne felt the air in her lungs expel, winded by his words and the sincerity in them. And she felt it, beneath his gaze and his hands. She felt beautiful.

She pulled him to her once more, lips chasing his as she felt his hands grasp at her hips to steady himself, mind whirling with her scent and her taste and the _feel_ of her beneath his eager fingertips.

 _“Touch me, Gil_.” 

Her voice was thick, filled with hot desire as she sucked a kiss to the spot just below his jaw, drawing a groan from him as her hand found his hardness, Anne palming him through the denim of his jeans. He rutted into her hand, a completely unconscious movement, Anne’s nearness rendering him senseless. 

“ _Please,”_ she whimpered.

His hand found the wet spot on the boxers she wore once more. He glanced down, fingers slow as he circled into her over the material, his body a bundle of nerves, anxious he couldn’t please her, but his worry was soothed by the whimper that spilled from her lips, her hips lifting towards him as she searched for friction, the vibrations from below her sending her dizzy as Gilbert's fingers deftly stroked the bud beneath her cotton underwear. And suddenly she needed more.

“Gil…” she pleaded; her lust-filled voice driving him forward.

His hands slid up her hips, finding the elastic of her waistband as he ripped his boxers from her, tore them down her legs, and letting the cotton drop to the floor. His fingers dug into the flesh of her backside as his eyes met the neat thatch of hair hidden beneath her underwear, swollen lips below it.

His fingers trailed into the hair, feeling its softness as Anne watched his expression change, a look of awe on his stupidly handsome face. She felt her spine stiffen, her back arching against him as one finger slipped along her folds, feeling her wetness under the pad of his fingers.

“Fuck, Anne… You’re so wet.”

His voice ripped from him, low and gravelled, and Anne whimpered a response.

“Only for you.”

His head snapped up, hazel eyes locked to deep blue as his finger found the place that made her feel best, applying pressured circles to the spot as Anne writhed against his hand.

“You’re fucking _killing_ me in that dress,” he rasped, tearing the thin strap of her dress from her shoulder, the material giving way and exposing one breast, the pink nipple puckered as his fingers stroked her folds, circling the bud hidden between her legs.

His mouth found her nipple, tongue flicking over her, the sensation drawing a gasp from Anne. Her fingers threaded into his hair, goose flesh erupting along her skin as he blew cold air against the strip he had licked.

“Gilbert,” she gasped.

Her voice was reedy, breathless, and his hand slowed against her, Anne whining as he sucked the pink bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as Anne’s hands tightened in his hair, pressing his mouth to her. He felt her legs tighten around his waist, heard a gasping breath tear from her lungs, and he smiled into her skin, turning his attention to the other, his tongue flicking quickly over the peak, as pink as a rosebud.

She panted as his lips left her, his fingers tracing the swollen bundle of nerves hidden between her legs, feeling her writhe into him with each stroke.

His mouth found her ear, sucking her lobe between his teeth, nipping at her lightly as they grazed the skin.

“Tell me what you want, Anne,” he murmured into her ear, his chocolatey voice vibrating down her neck and along her skin as she felt him roll her nipple slowly between pinched fingers.

“Oh, god…” Anne whined. “I want – I want to feel you inside me.”

He felt himself melt at her answer, allowing her to draw him closer, Gilbert’s hardness connecting with where she waited for him, slick and ready for him to take her.

But not yet. He wasn’t quite ready to finish exploring her body.

His hand traced the curve of her side, the swell of her breast and the dip of her waist, the soft curve of her hip, sliding along her thigh, slowly, slowly, Anne trembling beneath him as he inched downwards with each trace of his hand, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, her neck, the soft swelling of her breasts, as he lowered himself before her, his lips peppering soft kisses along the inside of her thigh.

Anne’s breath caught as he neared her heat, taking his time to press his lips to her freckles, peppering searing hot kisses along her skin. Anne shifted forward, sliding along the machine, edging herself nearer to his exploratory mouth.

He licked the skin along her thigh, blowing against it as Anne whimpered, angling her hips towards him.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled between kisses.

“Get on with it,” she gasped, a light laugh escaping her lips.

“As you wish.”

His tongue licked a slow strip along her folds, a high mewl ripping from Anne as he flattened his tongue, savouring her taste against his lips, lapping at her essence. She fell back, steadying herself upright with her palms as his tongue found her clitoris and flicked playfully across it.

“You’re such – a tease,” she gasped, her hand finding his head between her legs, fingers threading into dark curls.

He smiled against her, slowing the ministrations of his tongue as she whimpered above him, groaning frustratedly as her fingers tightened against his scalp, pressing him to her. He sucked. Hard. Anne cried out in pleasure.

“Gil, I need more,” she demanded, her voice breathy and keening.

He hummed against her, a gasp falling from her lips as the vibrations of his mouth mingled with the machine. She felt a finger circle her entrance, collecting her essence as his mouth moved against her, sucking lightly as one finger slipped inside her. Anne gasped at his touch.

He curled his finger inside of her, drawing a low moan from her. Her sounds shot through him, drawing a guttural groan from him as he felt himself strain against the confines of his jeans, desperate to break free.

He slowly drew his finger from her, pumping back inside as his mouth explored her once more, eyes attached to the glorious woman above him, her chest heaving shallow breaths as she thrust her hips against his tongue, his fingers, matching his movements with her pace. A second finger slid inside her, feeling her stretch around him, his fingertips stroking softly at her walls in search of that spot.

“ _Fuck_.”

Anne’s head fell back, Gilbert watching the lights above illuminate the beads of sweat that glistened her skin as his movements hastened with the rut of her hips against his hand, Anne chasing her pleasure as he brought her nearer to her pinnacle.

His fingers worked faster, Anne’s toes curling as her legs tightened around him, thighs quivering as they snapped against his head, locking him against her.

“I want you to watch me, Anne,” he hummed against her, and her eyes found his, fingers pushing his hair back from his forehead as she neared her climax, Gilbert’s tongue swirling against her, flicking across her bud, fingers driving in and out, faster and faster as Anne’s hips rolled against him, her movements quickening with each stroke until…

“Gil!”

He felt her hips rise against him as the knot inside of her snapped, her legs trembling as she rocked against his tongue and found her release, pleasure pulsing through every fibre of her as his fingers curled inside her, Anne riding against his hand. He lapped at her as she slowed, heaving breaths escaping her lungs as she collapsed back against the dryer.

He grinned, drawing his fingers from inside of her as she surged upwards, arms tightening around his neck as her lips found his once more, taking his in a heated kiss.

“If I’d known you were as good at that we would have done it ages ago,” she mumbled against his mouth, feeling him smile against her.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to.”

Anne drew away, staring into the darkness of his eyes as she took his hand in hers, lifting it to her mouth.

“I think I have some idea,” she whispered, stretching each of his fingers straight, dropping light kisses to his fingertips. She sucked his index finger into her mouth.

He groaned at the feel of her tongue against his skin, Anne’s cheeks hollowing before releasing his finger with a loud _pop_.

“Let me make you feel good,” she whispered, dropping his hand and finding his length, hard and strained against his jeans.

His breath hitched at her touch, sharp and uneven as his eyes fell to where her hands explored him.

“Anne, you don’t have to…”

His words were cut off by another kiss; soft, light. Her tongue flicked along his bottom lip. “I want to.”

She slid forward, Gilbert settling between her thighs as Anne’s hands worked at his belt, fumbling with the clasp.

“Here.” He took her hands in his. “Let me.”

He unbuckled the belt hastily, the leather and metal falling to the floor as Anne drew it from him, one finger trailing along the hair of his lower stomach, down where she couldn’t see. She traced his waistband, Gilbert’s head falling against her shoulder as he watched her fingers explore him, dipping to feel outline his arousal. Gilbert jerked into her touch.

She drew away, tutted. “Now who’s eager?”

Her voice was low and reedy, and Gilbert felt himself flood with a new wave of need, his fingers grabbing at her hips and dragging her to him, rutting against her as she moaned, writhing into him, her hands making quick work of his button and fly, pushing his jeans and underwear downwards as his arousal sprang free.

She swallowed as she drank him in, Gilbert blushing under her gaze, fully exposed to her for the very first time.

“Anne, seriously, we don’t have to…”

His words were cut off with a guttural growl as her hand circled him, her thumb brushing over his head, swirling the liquid that beaded there around the tip.

“Anne…”

She pumped down, Gilbert’s hips rutting forward, a spasm-like movement that caused him to redden.

Her tongue flicked into the curve of his ear. “Does that feel good, doc?”

He nodded, his breath catching as her hand slid up his length and back down.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“It… _fuck!”_ He jerked into her hand once more, his breath coming in gasps. “It feels good.”

“Would it feel better inside me?”

There was a vulnerability in her voice, something she tried to mask beneath the husk of her tone, and his eyes snapped upwards, seeing her watching him. Her brows curved slightly, eyes widening as she awaited his answer. His hand found her cheek, drawing her to him in a kiss.

“ _Yes,”_ he hissed. 

"Are you clean?" she asked. 

"Yeah. Are you?" 

Her teeth gazed his jaw. "Yes. And I'm on the pill."

Gilbert nodded as Anne’s legs tightened around him, lining him up with her entrance 

“Are you ready?” 

She nodded, feeling his hands slip to her hips, around to her backside, where he squeezed, sliding Anne closer to him as he thrust upwards into her. Anne gasped as he entered her, hips wiggling as she adjusted to him.

“Is that okay?” he questioned, eyeing her hesitantly as she slid against him. She nodded.

“More than okay.”

He laughed lightly, drawing himself from her slowly and driving forward, Anne whimpering quietly as she was filled with him.

“Gil…”

The sound of his name on her lips drove him forward, sliding into her again and again as she wrapped herself around him, circling his shoulders with her arms, legs catching him against her as she moved against him, meeting each of his thrusts eagerly. She heard him groan against her shoulder, the sound muffled as he drove himself into her, faster and faster chasing his release. 

She took one of his hands from her hips, sliding it between them and pressing his fingers between her legs, above the point they connected, Gilbert following her lead, fingers working swiftly at her clitoris as he thrust into her. And again. And again, Anne’s fingernails clawing at his back as he pumped into her, a knot tightening low in his stomach. Anne cried out, driving him forward, the air around them electric, pulsating with the buzz of the lights and the vibrations of the machine, Anne’s soft sighs, and Gilbert’s panting breaths as he thrust into her deeper, deeper, his rhythm becoming unsteady as he felt her come undone beneath his fingers, hips jerking upwards, sliding against him as she cried out, writhing against his touch.

Her pleading sounds drew him over the edge, tumbling off the precipice, his hips rutting into her, movements quick, erratic, as he felt himself spill inside of her, breathless as he slowed, his head falling to her shoulder once more. Anne’s fingers found his hair, teasing lightly at his scalp as she cradled him to her, their breaths heavy, shallow, as they came down from their high. 

“So,” she heard him mumble against her freckled skin, his hands tracing her thighs. “Which step on _wikihow_ was that?”

Anne's shoulders shook as she laughed, her hand hiding her face as he chuckled against her. His breath was hot on her skin as he slid from inside her. She pressed a kiss to his dark crown of curls.

“That was a part of step number 5, of course,” Anne quipped as Gilbert righted his jeans, trembling fingers buttoning them once more, before ducking to retrieve Anne’s underwear from the floor. “ _Wait for the cycle to finish.”_

She hopped off the machine, legs weak and trembling beneath her. She stepped back into Gilbert’s boxers, shimmying them up her thighs and over her hips, feeling Gilbert’s hands snake around her waist, pulling her into him as his lips found hers once more, their kiss slow, languid, Anne savouring the taste of sex on his tongue.

The washing machine behind them beeped, the sound startling them, drawing them apart. Gilbert flushed, his skin bright red, as though the machine was a pair of voyeuristic eyes and they had just been caught.

“I think the cycle is done.”

Anne’s eyes dropped to the floor. She shrugged sheepishly, suddenly vulnerable before him. They had just strayed into new territory and Anne was uncertain this was something he would want to keep exploring.

She went to turn from him when she felt him catch her hand, pull her to him as his palm found her cheek, tracing along her cheekbone softly as his lips slid against hers. They broke apart, Gilbert’s forehead falling against Anne’s, his breath coming in quick bursts.

“You know,” he whispered, hazel eyes fluttering open, revealing two dark pools to Anne. “I’m glad laundry is a weekly thing. We’ll have to _wait for the cycle to finish_ every time we’re here.”

Anne laughed, pushing herself onto her tiptoes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, his eyes wide at her boldness.

“That’s the funny thing about laundry,” she teased. “Clothes only get dirty if you’re wearing them. And I can think of _so_ many things to do that would require no clothing at all.”

He snorted a laugh, feeling Anne’s hand in his as she led him back to the washing machine, eyes meeting as they unloaded their wet clothes and folded them into the cart. 

Gilbert wondered how long a dryer took and just what they could do while they waited for that cycle to finish.

_Fin._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Right, so did we all survive that? *covers face in embarrassment*
> 
> Look, the first time is always the worst, right? (innuendo fully intended, as was the gratuitous opening line of "How hard can it be?" I am nothing but a simp for wordplay) 
> 
> If anyone is interested, the article Anne reads is real. It is a Wikihow article I read to research laundromats because I'm *that* chick who needs to get her receipts. 
> 
> I hope that this was a satisfactory smut story (and big props to Ross and Rachel who inspired me.) I haven't written anything like this before, so it was all very new and a little intimidating, but as I have said before, I'm currently challenging my writing and branching out into new territory is fun!
> 
> Again, a big thank you to Elodie and Lela for listening to my ideas for this, planting the seed to change this from enemies to lovers to friends to lovers and beta reading. You guys are such bright spots and I'm so lucky to call you friends!
> 
> I know this story isn't perfect, so if you would like to leave some constructive feedback, a little encouragement or a wee comment just to say you enjoyed it, please feel free to do so! 
> 
> If you would like, come interact on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/chaos_in_calm) or [Tumblr](https://beckybubbles.tumblr.com/). I love chatting to people there!
> 
> Okay, I'll leave you!
> 
> Go raibh maith agat for reading, lovely humans!
> 
> Becky x


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